


Bloodsport

by anovelblogwrites



Series: Cassian and Nesta One-Shots [5]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 22:47:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10558984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anovelblogwrites/pseuds/anovelblogwrites
Summary: Rhysand said nothing in response. In the time they had known her, the Inner Circle had learned that this was the easiest way of dealing with the High Lady’s sister. He merely shrugged, and turned to speak to Amren.A peaceful breakfast might have ensued, if not for Cassian.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is another installment in the collection of stories I'm writing about Nesta and Cassian. I just write them as I think of them/find inspiration, so they aren't in any particular order!
> 
> (The title of this one is also the title of a song by Raleigh Ritchie)

By the time Nesta had made it from her bedroom to the dining room downstairs, the other occupants of the house were already seated at the table, which was all but hidden beneath a spread of fruits and pastries. She pulled out the empty chair at the opposite end of the table from everyone else and slid into it.

“Good morning, Nesta,” The High Lord greeted from the head of the table. 

She nodded curtly as she reached for the jar of citrus marmalade to spread over the roll in her other hand. “Rhysand.” 

“My friends call me Rhys,” He offered with a small smile. 

Nesta’s eyes rolled, then focused on Rhys boredly, “Exactly.”

Rhysand said nothing in response. In the time they had known her, the Inner Circle had learned that this was the easiest way of dealing with the High Lady’s sister. He merely shrugged, and turned to speak to Amren. 

A peaceful breakfast might have ensued, if not for Cassian. 

“Rhys is a friend to you.” He cut in, glaring down the table at Nesta, who was making a point not to acknowledge him as she swirled a spreading knife into the jar in her hand. It was unclear whether the commander spoke in his brother’s defense, or if he was simply looking for an excuse to pick yet another fight with the eldest Archeron sister. “He didn’t have to let you stay here.” 

Nesta stiffened, her back straight against her chair. “I never wanted to stay here,” she reminded him, not without hostility. “I never _wanted_ to be involved in your--” 

“This war is going to affect more than the Faerie realms, Nesta. Not even your insignificant human existence would have been spared.” 

Her eyes looked over him slowly, in a way that might have passed for disinterested. But Cassian could see the blazing fury behind the cool blue. Noticed the way her knuckles turned white around the handle of the knife in her fist. “You would know all about insignificance, wouldn’t you? Experience is the best teacher, I hear.” 

The others seated at the table exchanged wary glances. It wasn’t uncommon for Nesta and Cassian to bicker across their plates, but it normally took more than a jab at Nesta’s lost humanity to drive out an attack on Cassian’s parentage and childhood. 

“Just because you’re angry at the world,” he spoke slowly and clearly, each word carefully aimed. “Does not mean you can take it out on people who are trying to help you.” 

The knife in Nesta’s hand was suddenly embedded in the surface of the table. Marmalade splattered the polished wood, plates rattled from the force of the action. “I don’t want your help! I don’t need it!” 

Cassian raised an eyebrow, simultaneously challenging and mocking. “Because you’re doing just fine on your own?” 

She seethed, “As if I would ever admit to you that I wasn’t.” 

“Your pride is going to get you killed, Nesta Archeron.” 

“Right after your tiresome hero complex finishes off the rest of you,” she retorted immediately, throwing a hand out at his bandaged wings. 

Beside him, Cassian noticed Azriel, looking as if he wanted to say something. But before he could, Cassian pushed out of his chair so hard it hit the ground, wincing slightly from the sudden movement. 

“I made a sacrifice for someone I love!” He was yelling now. “And I would do it again, a hundred times over.” He took a deep, steadying breath. When he spoke again, it was with shivering calm. “But you wouldn’t understand that.” 

“No, I do understand,” she said cooly, rising to match his stance. “You’re merely doing for others what nobody did for you.” 

“Then what’s your excuse?” he snapped. 

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Cassian, but not everyone was shaped by a tragic backstory.” 

“Because Feyre took on the burden of yours.” 

Nesta’s eyes narrowed on him with razor focus. Blood was rushing in her cheeks, washing away her cold demeanor in a tide of pink. “Don’t speak of things you know nothing about.” 

Cassian felt a flicker of satisfaction at the break of emotion in the impervious mask that was her face. “I may be a bastard-born nobody--as you are always so eager to remind me--but I know more about family than you ever will.” 

There was a beat of silence--so short it was hardly noticeable--in which Nesta swallowed, composing herself. 

“How sentimental,” she scoffed, her voice had regained its callous cadence, and was seeping with condescension.

Cassian should have learned by now to never have expectations when it came to Nesta Archeron. Because she would defy them. Destroy them, even. During their last encounter with the mortal queens, Cassian was preparing himself to have to interfere when Nesta sunk her claws into one of them. Instead, he found himself wiping tears off of her cheeks. Just when she had his head spinning, and his pulse racing, and he could feel his lips parting to kiss her, she kicked him. Hard. 

But apparently not hard enough for the lesson to stick, because he had been sure she was going smite him where he stood for accusing her of not loving her family. But, she didn’t argue. even when part of it was sitting at the table, awkwardly pushing fruit around her plate with her fork. She simply mocked him for loving his. 

He stared down the table at Nesta. His opponent. His equal.

She was staring back at him in the way one might eye a chessboard, after they’ve realized they were already three moves ahead. 

As Cassian had once told her, he could see right through that look. He could see right through her. It was different now, than it was then. He had told her that she was nothing more than a bored and spoiled girl. But since that day, he has seen the way Nesta’s face softens when she looks at Elain. He once overheard her interrogating Azriel about his connections in the Spring Court, if he’d heard anything recently. He felt the softness of her hand laced with his. At the time he needed someone the most, she was there. 

The temptation to call her out on it prods at him. She would have no choice but to swallow the venom she was about to spit at him, because even her cunning mind wouldn’t have foreseen the conversation--if you could even call whatever this was a conversation--taking such a turn. One that would force her to confront the woman that feels everything so deeply; the woman that she keeps locked away. 

He strangled the feeling--no matter how satisfying it would have been to act on it--because he couldn’t tell Nesta that he remembered her coming to him, that he will never forget it. Because if he told her that much, he might reveal that he could still hear the words she’d whispered to him in a voice soft as rain. Telling Nesta that he remembered that night was dangerously close to telling her about the bond, and he couldn’t do that. Not yet, anyway. Not while she was still broken, and the pieces were still so sharp. Always ready to draw blood. 

So he didn’t say anything at all. He simply righted the chair he’d toppled, pushed it in, and left the dining room. 

Nesta didn’t follow him. But he hoped that one day she would.


End file.
